A Sardonic Sunrise
Shadows of little mariachi men on my curtains as the Sun says, "Good morning." They play me a jig in a sense that joyous occasions are on the horizon. Like today is going to be a good day. The kind of day to be proud to wake up to instead of waging war over every extra second in bed. But as turn and exit, the spiral takes hold, the dominoes tilt, the day swallows me whole. Still in darkness, my mind stumbles around like a lonely drunken soul at rock bottom, I come to. Current circumstances do not resemble this desperate tragedy of an image, but in an artist's mind, hues can be worked to illustrate pain and suffering in a beat. The smells of heavy chemicals now waft in my olfactories, the taste now color my lips, in Perry-blue and Minaj-purple. She wants to be a rock star, she wants to pose for those people watchers and feel righteous in her apparent differences. While she waits for her next application, his eyes burn through me, his pupils shift and lens focus,...